“Look at this,” he said, poking into a tiny dressing room that boasted a cracked mirror on the wall and a sagging makeup shelf. “Imagine all the itinerant actors who have occupied this room, dressing and making up in front of that very mirror. And then going out to the cheers and jeers of an audience of miners. Maybe that’s what I’ll do a play about—one of those actors. And of course the miner’s daughter who loved him. It can be beautifully corny, Laurie, and today’s audiences will love the nostalgia.”
I hardly heard him, because it was not the shabby little dressing room that drew me but the long gallery that stretched high above the stage. I could almost hear my father’s voice echoing in this high place.
All right, my little mountain goat! We’ll have a look if you must. Wait till I see if it’s safe.
That remembered voice drew me. I knew we had gone out there together. I left Hillary to his make-believe and stepped carefully onto what was hardly more than a catwalk. The railing was steady enough, and the wood underfoot seemed firm. I moved cautiously, drawn by the spell of memory that was so strong in me, and by a sense of long-lost companionship. Always I had loved to stand in high places where I could see what no one else could see, and my father had understood my compulsion.
If I went just a little farther out I would be able to view the whole theater, as I had seen it long ago with him.
I inched toward the middle of the stage, where I could look down from what seemed a vast height above the bare boards, to where Mark Ingram stood before the row of old-fashioned footlights, staring up at me. Beyond him lay the entire dim and dusty theater, clear to a dark row of back seats. It was as exhilarating as standing on a mountain, and I could almost feel my hand in my father’s strong clasp, protecting me.
Had Sissy Tremayne ever danced and sung on this stage in the days before she married her Englishman and went to live in the mining camp of Domino? It was possible.
“Come back, Laurie,” Hillary called. “It can’t be safe out there.”
I took one more tentative step toward the center of the walk and heard the cracking of rotten wood. Not the railing that I clung to with my lacerated hands, but the boards under my feet. Before I could recover and draw back, one foot was going through a widening crack. The stage below me showed through jagged splinters—a drop that could break every bone in my body. My scream sounded thin and high, and I clung with all my strength to a railing that had begun to shake.
Hillary was there in an instant behind me, moving lightly, surely. “Hang on,” he said. “I can get you.”
His arm came about my body with wiry strength just as my leg went through, and he pulled me back slowly from the widening crack.
“Let go, Laurie, It’s all right now.”
When I managed to uncurl my fingers from about the rail and he’d drawn me to safety, he led me down the stairs to where Belle waited, her face white with shock.
“My God!” she said. “I thought you were a goner for sure. Like that actress I was telling you about. Come on back to the hotel, hon, and I’ll get you a good stiff brandy.”
Mark Ingram joined us backstage, looking like a gray lion, and not at all pleased with me. “Are you all right, Miss Morgan? Can you walk? I must say that was a stupid thing to do.”
I had a feeling that my shin was bleeding, and I sat on the steps to the orchestra, to pull up my pants leg. New scratches ran down the leg—and they had begun to burn.
Ingram took charge, leading the way back to the hotel, while I walked with Hillary’s arm around me on one side and Belle supporting me on the other. I could have walked alone. Mostly I was just shaky from my fright.
In Ingram’s office behind the hotel desk I was seated on a sofa, with my leg outstretched, while Belle busied herself sponging blood away.
“What have you been doing?” she asked, looking at the raw patch on my knee.
I didn’t answer. Oddly enough, now that my first moments of fright were over, I wasn’t particularly upset. In a way that I couldn’t explain I had again made contact with my childhood. Besides, anything that happened to me from now on, however disastrous, would pale when I compared it to that tunnel in the mine. To die was to die, but there were some ways more horrible than others. Or perhaps I was just getting too numb to feel anything at all anymore. The only active need I had was to get back to Morgan House to see my grandmother, and to talk to Jon Maddocks.
Hillary tried to reassure me. “Don’t look so stricken, Laurie. You held on fine, and everything’s okay. You weren’t ever in any real danger because I was right there.”
“I don’t agree,” Ingram said. “There was plenty of danger.”
Belle, busy with her ministering, looked up, and I turned my head so that I could see Mark Ingram sitting behind the wide expanse of mahogany desk in his office.
“It begins to seem, Miss Morgan,” he went on, “that you are accident-prone. I knew that old story of the deringer. Miss Cullen has told me. And I know about your memory returning, so you’re aware of what happened in the past. Then there’s the escapade in the mine this morning, with the door blowing shut—or whatever happened—so that you were almost trapped inside. Now, finally, this. You could have been killed if you’d dropped to the stage. Enough is enough. I don’t want anything more happening to you.”
Belle spoke slyly. “It will give Jasper a bad name if you get yourself killed around here, Laurie. Mark wouldn’t like that.”
“What’s this about the mine?” Hillary asked, and I remembered that I still hadn’t told him. I only shook my head.
Ingram scowled at Belle and she subsided. When he looked like that, his benevolence was gone and he resembled a buccaneer, I thought—completely ruthless and without mercy. He was trying to frighten me off. If I wouldn’t leave any other way.
“What about the mine?” Hillary insisted, but I cut in on him.
“How did you know about what happened?” I asked Ingram.
“Maddocks has been here. With some pretty strong words. I don’t like what has happened any more than he does, but all this is something we can deal with among ourselves.”
“You mean you didn’t send those men to beat Jon up yesterday?” I demanded.
Hillary pressed a hand on my shoulder. “Take it easy, Laurie.”
“You’re in no position to make accusations—either you or Maddocks,” Ingram said coolly. “Not if you want your grandmother to stay in her house for whatever time is left to her. But that’s not what I want to talk about now. Hillary, this morning Miss Morgan went in search of her dog on Old Desolate and managed to get herself trapped in the mine. Or thought she did. It was lucky for her that Maddocks was able to bring her out. Now I would like you to take her back to New York. When she has safely returned to where she belongs, you can come back here and get to work on the theater. With fewer worries to distract you. I’m going to commission you for the entire job.”
Obviously Jon hadn’t told him about my finding bones in the mine, or he would have mentioned it.
“If the wind blew the door to the mine shut,” I said, ignoring his outrageous words, “how did it manage to fasten the padlock?”
He smiled at me—a pirate’s smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but did you examine the door after you got out to learn whether the padlock really closed it or the door just happened to jam? Isn’t the latter more likely?”
Jon and I had not gone back to look at the door, and I felt an edge of uncertainty crowding in. Something I didn’t want to accept. It would be too late now to go back and check. By this time, I suspected, the padlock would hang open and the door would really be jammed.
Hillary was silent, listening in amazement.
“In any case,” I said, “I’m not leaving for New York. I’m staying right here, and I want to get back to my grandmother as soon as I can.”
“I understand she has gone into a coma,” he said. “This may be serious.”
“She’s been drugged,” I told him. “I�
�m going back to her now. I want to be there when the doctor comes.”
“You may as well start packing at the same time. I’ll have Belle make reservations for a plane from Denver tomorrow. Hillary, you can borrow my car for the drive down. I’ll send one of my men with you.”
Hillary came suddenly to life. “Sorry, Mr. Ingram, but Laurie isn’t leaving. She doesn’t want to go, and I want her here with me. We’re planning to be married anyway, and we may as well make it now as later. Then, if her grandmother will permit, we could move in temporarily and keep an eye on what is happening. What do you think, Laurie?”
His words left me speechless. We’d never talked seriously about marriage—by Hillary’s choice. Not even in the days when I’d believed that Hillary Lange was the only possible man in the world for me. Now I was beginning to distrust myself, to wonder about my own judgment, my tendency to waver in my emotions. He was waiting for a response, his eyes bright with a new exhilaration, as though his enormous self-confidence could carry him through in whatever he proposed. It occurred to me in that moment of astonishment that Hillary Lange had never been conditioned to failure. He had never had to fail.
Before I could find anything to say, however, Ingram began to laugh. I didn’t think he was tuned in to failure either, and when he gave in quite gracefully, my misgivings increased.
“All right,” he said. “If that’s what you want, Hillary. If you’re willing to take over the risk of having this danger-prone young lady on the premises, I wash my hands of all responsibility.”
There was something both challenging and a little wicked in the look Hillary turned upon me, as though he dared me to deny his words. What role was this? Machiavelli, perhaps? Whatever he was doing, whatever his motive, I couldn’t let him go on.
“I’m not getting married,” I said, and then continued in a rush before he could speak. “I want to go back to my grandmother right now. I want to talk with her when I can and find out what she wants me to do. Certainly I’m not leaving Jasper.”
“I’m sorry to be so sudden, Laurie,” Hillary said, not believing me in the least. “I do get carried away sometimes.”
I wasn’t getting through to him, I thought helplessly, but now wasn’t the right moment to try—not with Belle and Ingram there.
“It may already be too late to talk to your grandmother,” Ingram said. “But go on back to the house and see if you can stay out of trouble for a while. Better take care of that leg while you’re about it. Belle will drive you over in my car. I expect you’ll want to go along, Hillary.”
He was still managing us, and I didn’t like his words about my grandmother, but this was royal dismissal, and I knew he was displeased with all of us. At least I could escape now, without further argument.
Hillary helped me out to Ingram’s station wagon, and I sat with my leg outstretched while Belle took the wheel. Hillary was being considerate and careful, and for once completely oblivious of my feelings. Perhaps he was choosing to be oblivious.
I spoke to Belle. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and help with my grandmother? We need you badly, if only for a little while.”
She shook her head, her lips pressed tight.
When we reached the fence across Morgan property, we found a strange car parked near the gate.
“The doctor must have arrived,” I said. “Hillary, you needn’t come in with me. My leg isn’t that bad, and I can manage fine.”
Hillary came around to help me out of the car, but before I took his hand I turned back to Belle.
“Just come in for a moment,” I urged. “Just come in and see her, Belle.”
Perhaps I was exerting a greater strength of will than I’d known I possessed, because her resistance began to crumble. I gave her a little push and she got of the car.
I smiled at Hillary. “It will be all right now. It has to be.”
“Of course,” he said. “But I need to talk to you, Laurie.”
“Not now, please. Later. Persis has to come first.”
“All right,” he said. “You needn’t hurry, Belle. I’ll walk back to the hotel.”
As he strolled away I heard him whistling. It was a cheerful sound, unmarked by worry. Belle and I went down the walk together and into the house. She didn’t look at me, and her lips were still pressed tightly together in resistance. But now that I had her this far, I wouldn’t let her go.
Upstairs, we found the door to Persis’ room open. Caleb glanced around at Belle in surprise, and then beckoned us in. Bending over my grandmother, with Gail beside him, crisply the nurse again, the doctor was examining his patient with a stethoscope, then raising an eyelid to see the pupil.
Someone had once more opened the draperies to let air into the big room, and I was thankful for that. In the brighter light I could see that Persis had been turned on her side, and her breathing seemed to have quieted, so that she slept more peacefully.
When the doctor stepped back from the bed, Caleb introduced me to him, and he nodded to Belle. Dr. Burton was a small, plump man, with shrewd eyes that were not unsympathetic. He wasted little time on the amenities.
“She’s sedated,” he said. “But she’s not too deeply unconscious. Miss Cullen must watch her for any changes, but her state isn’t dangerous, considering the few pills Miss Cullen thinks she has taken. She still responds to pain—a good sign. She’ll sleep her way out of this and be drowsy for a while.”
“How did it happen?” I asked.
Gail spoke quickly. “I’ve already explained to Dr. Burton. Mrs. Morgan always wants her sleeping capsules near her bed—so she can take them or not as she chooses. There’s been no need to ration them since she’s seldom willing to use them. But this time a few are missing. Not enough to be serious.”
“I’m relieved,” Caleb said, and I wondered if he really was. I would wonder that until I had a chance to talk with my grandmother and ask why she had taken those capsules. If she really had taken them herself.
Belle spoke for the first time. “How long do you think she’ll sleep?”
Dr. Burton was putting away his instruments. “She’s been sleeping for a number of hours, so it may not be too much longer. Give her plenty of liquids when she wakes and anything she wants to eat. I’ll try to get back this way later.”
When we went out of the room, I followed and stopped him at the head of the stairs. “Dr. Burton, how did you happen to find Gail Cullen for this post?”
“Why—she came to me looking for private work. I’ve known her since she was a little girl. She didn’t mind coming up here, so the arrangement was very suitable.”
“I don’t think my grandmother took those capsules on her own,” I said.
He blinked at me uncomfortably. “Come now, Miss Morgan. Gail Cullen is a capable nurse. And of course Caleb Hawes is an old friend. Just what are you suggesting?”
“Nothing,” I said, and turned away.
He paused at the top of the stairs. “I know your grandmother well. You have to remember that old people get absentminded sometimes. She’s been failing in the last months, and she may not have remembered what she’d taken.”
“That’s possible. Anyway, I hope I can persuade Belle Durant to stay here for a while now and look after her.”
“But Miss Cullen is—”
“We’ll see about Miss Cullen,” I told him, and went back to the bedroom.
For a moment I stood in the doorway, trying to summon the courage I knew I was going to need. Belle was bending over Persis while Gail watched, clearly indignant.
Caleb came toward me. “Why have you brought that woman here?” he demanded.
“Because I mean to let Miss Cullen go,” I told him. “I want Belle Durant to stay with my grandmother, if she will.”
“You have no authority—” Caleb began.
I didn’t let him finish. “I’m her granddaughter. I have the authority of blood. I don’t think you are going to put me out, are you?” I walked past Gail to Belle. “Wha
t do you think?”
Belle shrugged. “Doc Burton’s probably right. Nothing to be done till she wakes up. Wish I’d caught her sooner, got some coffee down her, stopped this from happening.”
“Will you stay?” I said. “Not for me, Belle. For her.”
Gail stepped forward. “I won’t have this interference with a patient. I don’t know how she came to take those extra capsules, and I can’t be held responsible—” She threw a helpless look at Caleb, who said nothing at all.
“I’m taking the responsibility out of your hands,” I said. “You’ve already failed at your post, and it’s best if you leave as soon as possible. I’ll see that arrangements are made to take you where you want to go.”
Her mouth dropped open and her stare was one of astonishment. A small, warm feeling of triumph spread through me. I hadn’t known I could sound like this. I hadn’t ever tried to take charge of anything before. Yet now neither Caleb nor Gail was standing up to me. With Belle’s help perhaps I could do the right thing for Persis Morgan. With Belle’s help and Jon’s. I still had to talk to Jon.
“Belle,” I said, “you’ll stay?”
She gave in. “All right. I’ll stay. For a while, anyway. I’ll need to go over to the hotel and talk to Mark, pick up a few things. That can wait until she begins to come out of this. But you don’t have much of an army to stand against what Mark Ingram wants.”
“Jon Maddocks will help,” I said. “If you’ll stay with my grandmother until I get back, I’ll go and talk to him now.”
I knew by her look that I had her promise. She drew a chair near the bed and sat down. When I went out the door I found Gail and Caleb talking in the hall, and I passed them without speaking.
The scratch on my leg was superficial, and so were my cuts and bruises from the mine. I could walk well enough, and once outdoors, I found the clear air bracing. For a long while it was as if I had been swimming under water, moving in some element that was strange to me, in which I couldn’t think clearly, or be entirely sure of who I was. Now, at least, I was making a stand. I had taken hold of something.
Domino Page 24
